Teach Your Heart To Feel
by shortierockette
Summary: Before they were Professor X and Mystique, they were Charles and Raven. Drabbles about moments between the Xavier siblings. Open to suggestions! First Class continuity, ratings will vary.
1. Love, Love

**Marvel and Fox owns; I'm just borrowing the toys. I'll try to have them back before curfew.**

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><p>Charles was just predispositioned to become a teacher, Raven thought to herself, as she watched her brother graduate Oxford. There was a strange sense of pride within her, knowing that her big brother was going on to help others learn, just as he did with her. Growing up, she'd known plenty of teachers, but none of them had ever measured up to Charles' standard. It wasn't that they hadn't been good teachers; they just hadn't been even <em>close<em> to as good as the young telepath was.

Charles had taken her in when there had been no reason. He taught her how to read, how to write; how to control her mutation; how to think for herself; how to get up in the morning and be confident, ready to face the day, knowing that she was in control of her life now.

Those things were all well and good, of course, but anyone else with enough creativity and patience could have done the same. No, what he had taught her was something she wasn't sure anyone else in the whole world ever could.

Charles taught her how to feel.

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><p><strong>Hello, everyone! Usually I put the author's note in the beginning, but since this one's kinda long, I'm putting it here. So, this little fic here, is my way of just practicing my writing and stuff without spending an entire fic; i.e. kicking my butt to write more often.<strong>

**This will consist of various drabbles of various lengths (I don't do the whole "100 words" thing) all involving Charles and Raven, usually with each other, but maybe with others as well. I'm encouraging anyone who wants to to suggest any drabbles they'd like to see! I'm open to most ideas- canon, AU, crossover, if you wish; just no slash, and preferably no romance between these two, as I love the bro/sis relationship they have.**


	2. The Best of Times

**Marvel and Fox owns; I'm just borrowing the toys. I'll try to have them back before curfew.**

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><p>In the life of Mystique, once known as Raven Darkhölme-Xavier, there were good and bad moments, as in any life. The bad times outnumbered the good, which was no surprise; she was a mutant, after all, and living a rotten life was written in her genes as sure as her shape-shifting. If she'd ever bothered to sit down and think about it, really think about it, most of the bad times had ties to Erik; and <em>all<em> of the goods were tied to Charles.

But she was Mystique, so that didn't really matter anyways.

After Charles took her in, there had been no more pain; or, at least, far less than she had been used to. Charles' mother left shortly after Raven came into the picture, and his father might as well have left too. The telepath had had to raise himself practically. Raven had been lucky, though; she'd had Charles to raise her. He'd been big brother, father, and teacher all rolled into one. And on those rare, rare days where her armor would slip just the tiniest bit, she'd find herself curled up in bed, head stuffed up against her pillow in an attempt to stem the tears, as she mourned for all she'd lost; all she'd given up.

But those were Raven's thoughts, and she was Mystique; so it didn't really matter anyways.


	3. Era

**Marvel and Fox owns; I'm just borrowing the toys. I'll try to have them back before curfew.**

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><p>When Raven took the time to think about it, her thirteen years of life were always grouped into two sections; <em>"Charles"<em> and _"Before Charles"_. The three years spent at the mansion had been the happiest time of her life, so far. She was warm, clothed, _fed_, and above all, she had Charles there.

In her eyes, Charles could do no wrong; she adored him, _worshiped_ him, even, because he was the only person she'd ever known who loved her unconditionally.

Recalling times that occurred during _"Before Charles"_ was completely off-limits; whenever she did, the memories of cold and hunger and hatred gnawed at her soul, and Raven would spend the rest of the day glued to her brother's side. Charles was careful on those days never to ask what prompted her to suddenly become so clingy, and would instead soothe her by reading or playing with her.

Raven especially loved it when Charles read to her; she hadn't known how to read _"Before"_, having never even gone to school. Charles had painstakingly taught her, his accent filling the air like music. A day with Charles was never wasted, in her opinion, even if she was just curled up against his side, listening as he gently encouraged her while she struggled with reading. On those days, she felt she could die happy. If Raven never had to leave Charles' side for as long as she lived, it would have been a life well-spent.

No one could have predicted how much _"After Charles"_ would change her mind.

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><p><strong>Sorry this took so long to put up; but I'm still way open for requests. **hint hint**<strong>


	4. Blondie

**Oh wow, thanks so much to the wonderful few who reviewed, especially those who gave me ideas for more. This was inspired by phoenixqueen, who suggest a drabble about "why Raven chose her blonde haired form when she's out in public". Hopefully there will be many more drabbles to come; bear with me, as I said, I'm a horrible procrastinator when it comes to fic-writing!**

****Marvel and Fox owns; I'm just borrowing the toys. I'll try to have them back before curfew.****

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><p>"First off, we need a plan of action," Charles declares as he plants his hands firmly on the kitchen table, looking for all the world like a miniature general, preparing his latest strategy. Raven stares at him, yellow eyes wide, from the other side of the table. She clutches an enormous sandwich, made of anything and everything she could find it the cupboards, holding onto it like she's afraid it will disappear if she lets it go. The little girl is quite obviously still hungry, but has paused halfway through eating to devote her full attention to Charles. And his heart breaks for her.<p>

"In order for you to stay here, my parents have to agree," he continues. "You'll need some sort of disguise. How long can you stay... changed?" Raven swallows.

"It varies," she answers shyly. "But I can usually stay like that for as long as I need to."

"Good," Charles smiles at her, pleased. "In that case, you'll need to pick a form that..." he hesitates, unsure of what to say. 'Normal' seems both too accurate and too cruel a word to use, but he can't think of anything better. Luckily for him, Raven beats him to it.

"Something that looks normal?" she supplies helpfully, any hurt masked. He nods.

"Yes, something like that. What would you like to pick? You wouldn't be able to change it once my parents see; it'll make them suspicious."

Raven thinks for a moment, pondering all the different faces she's ever seen, all the different faces she could choose. She could be old, or younger, white or negro, even a boy. Looking around the kitchen, Raven spots the picture on the refrigerator, the one of Charles' mother; the picture that got her into all this. She doesn't quite know what to make of the woman. She appears quite beautiful, though the black-and-white photograph fails to do her justice; there is, however, a certain hardness to her, from the sharp angles of her cheek bones to a glint in her eyes. This is the woman who, by tomorrow morning, is to be her mother. And Raven doesn't even know her name.

What Raven does know, is that she'll have to work hard to make this woman like her; the first step to that, is picking a form. An idea comes to her, and she concentrates on the woman's face, holding it in her mind. She analyzes, then begins to change it; the jaw softens, the crows feet wipe away, the blonde hair becomes young and shiny again. A familiar itchiness comes over her, as every cell in her body does her bidding, and changes to match the image in her mind. By the time she finishes, the strange little blue child is gone, and a blonde, rosy-cheeked girl sits in her place.

Charles watches the transformation, astonished. Despite having seen it once before, he is enthralled, and doubts he will ever become entirely used to his new friend- _new sister's_- abilities. That's fine by him; she's much to extraordinary to become accustomed with.

"How do I look?" Raven asks, shifting awkwardly.

"Fantastic!" Charles replies, quite honestly. In fact, she looks remarkably like his mother might have looked as a child. And that's good, isn't it? Maybe Sharon Xavier will be more likely to accept Raven as her daughter if she looks like her.

Maybe.

The two children smile happily, giggling as Raven devours her mess of a sandwich, dribbling chocolate sauce and pickles on the table. Things will be better now, Charles promises; she'll have a roof over her head, she'll never go hungry again, and she'll finally have a mother who'll love her like a mother _should_.

Morning rolls around, proving Charles wrong about one of the three.


	5. Baby Ballerina

****Marvel and Fox owns; I'm just borrowing the toys. I'll try to have them back before curfew.****

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><p>"Charles?" Raven calls from the doorway, her voice soft, but unwavering. She is still in her pajamas, cherry-red hair tousled from sleep. Charles looks up from his books. It is one o'clock in the morning, and he is sitting in the central room of their apartment, trying to squeeze in some last-minute studying for a test later in the day, but he can spare a few minutes for his sister.<p>

"What is it? Do you need something?" he asks, then notices the shine of tears in her eyes. "Are you alright?"

"I-I don't know," murmurs Raven, as she crosses the space from the doorway to the couch where he sits. "I had a dream... I'm not really sure what to make of it, really." She sinks slowly down to sit next to her adoptive-brother, still in a dream-like state.

"I was wearing your- _our_, grandmother's pointe shoes. Her shoes are all worn with age, y'know, the ribbons ratty, but they fit me perfectly; like Cinderella's glass slipper. They slipped right on, the ribbons practically tying themselves around my ankles. My ankles have always been weak, but, in the dream, they were strong. I _felt_ strong, stronger and more powerful than I ever have before. I didn't really know what I was doing, but it didn't matter; I knew I was the most beautiful dancer in the group. And I felt so light, and so, so _happy_." Raven doesn't meet Charles' eyes, instead gazing off to somewhere far away only she can see.

"The Others, the ones in charge, they tried to tell me I wasn't any good, that I didn't have the right training. I knew I was beautiful, and so did the rest of the girls; but the Others said they were wrong. They told me I had to take off the shoes and go back to another ballet class, one for those who weren't as good, back to where I belonged." Tears, long withheld, drip down her cheeks, but she seems to neither notice nor care.

"I waited, waited until they left the room, and then continued dancing. I was dancing around the room, _gliding_ on those little pink shoes. I didn't feel any pain in my toes, or in my heart. Away from the judgment, it didn't matter what they thought of me; I was beautiful, even if they couldn't see me for what I was. I _knew_ I was beautiful, and that was enough for me."

Charles does not know what to say. What _can_ you say, when your baby sister has just poured out her heart, her _soul_, to you, and doesn't even seem to realize it?

He decides it is simply better not to say anything, instead pulling her into a hug and holding her until she falls asleep in his arms an hour and a half later.

He still has a test.

He still needs to study.

Screw the test.

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><p><strong>So... now I feel a little awkward. For those who don't know, I'm a dancer, myself. Recently, I had a talk with my studio's director, in which she, basically, told me I suck. She says I'm sloppy, that I <em>barely<em> made it into the studio's company, that I'm not "special enough" to get into my first-choice college (currently William & Mary), and a whole bunch of other things that I really don't feel like thinking about right now.**

**I cried, to say the least. **

**Anyways, I later had the dream described above. Granted, the meanings between the two dreams are now totally different, but the feelings are still the same. I don't know whether to call it a good dream or a nightmare; for now, I'm just gonna say my grandmother (whom I am named for and was also a dancer) sent it to me from wherever she is now.**

**I hope this A/N hasn't turned too soppy or personal. I just... really needed to say something, I guess.**

**~ Elf**


	6. Affairs of the Present

****Oh wow, I finally got my lazy butt in gear and finished that Thanksgiving drabble I've been working on... just in time for Christmas tomorrow! You can expect a Holiday ficlet sometime around St. Paddy's Day (jk... jk... don't hurt me!).****

****Marvel and Fox owns; I'm just borrowing the toys. I'll try to have them back before curfew.****

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><p>"...simply outrageous, if you ask me! Completely unacceptable... needs to get his priorities right, that man... should be spending time with family... working instead! All that man does all day... ignores the children... the poor little girl... her first Thanksgiving... couldn't even be bothered to come home for the day..."<p>

The voice of Margaret, the Xavier family's maid, drifted through the closed oak doors separating the kitchen from the dining room. She was ranting to someone, most likely Roger, the butler. Raven did not quite understand what she was talking about, but she knew Margaret was angry. Angry at Charles' father, to be specific. Raven could not quite hear Roger's replies, but he sounded angry too. Sitting next to her, Charles stared angrily at his plate, muttering angry things to himself angrily. Gee, but there was a lot of anger in the mansion tonight!

It was November twenty-third, 1944, otherwise known as Thanksgiving. She had been learning about the holiday in school, but something about it still did not make sense to her. Perhaps it was the sentimental quality of the whole affair. Apparently, most other children spent every Thanksgiving day of their lives this way; sitting with their family at a table piled high with more food than anyone could ever eat. They would spend the meal talking, laughing, reminiscing, and giving thanks for all that they had.

Raven had not even know the day existed until this month.

So, while Margaret raged in the kitchen and Charles sat quietly fuming, Raven really could not understand what the fuss was about.

Her adoptive-father had missed another meal; so what? That was all it was, just another meal... right?

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><p><strong>Review for Christmas make a very happy Elf! Even if my lateness may actually earn me coal! =)<strong>

**P.S. Title comes from a quote by John A Broadus; "We are so taken up with the affairs of the present that we don't have time to give thanks for blessings of the past."**


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